A sugar High

I know some people think that change is always good and “sticking by your man,” or “staying true to your convictions,” or even “believing in right & wrong,” is just old-fashioned and close-minded. And in the past couple of months we have seen change that blatantly flies in the face of common morals, turns every issue into a shade of gray, puts the thumbscrews to any objectors, and makes the cold tundra of Canada look more and more appealing as the days go by.

Our government now has control of banking systems and car companies. They want control of insurance companies, the medical system, and talk radio. If they could only get control of Joe Biden’s mouth things might be better all around…

The strangest change that’s being pushed through legislation these days, and makes me want to learn French Canadian as soon as possible, is twisted enough to turn your grandmother into salt. I’m not talking about same-sex marriage or the abortion issue, but something much more bizarre.

After years and years of being told that Marijuana kills brain cells, leads to harder drugs, and is a scourge on society, now “experts” tell us that because Marijuana has such great medicinal properties and because people just like it so much—we should legalize and sell it in our local grocery store. I suppose they could place it between sprouts and fresh parsley. It’s sort of a weedy, grassy stuff, right? The really big kicker is that many congressmen think it’s the next “big idea.” Well, everyone knows addicts are willing to pay whatever it takes to get what they want, and why shouldn’t government cash in on the deal by legalizing the drug and taking their cut in taxes.

On the flip side of the coin is the evil Soda Pop industry. The government wants to tax it out of existence because it is bad for us and they always know what’s best for their constituents. Just like a kind father or Big Brother, they are looking out for us little (stupid) people. And just think what they can do with all those new taxes! Maybe they’ll buy a new state-of-the-art teleprompter for the White House’s master bathroom. That way the president won’t misspeak his lines when he tells his wife they’re out of shampoo.

So in about ten years down the road things will be mighty different in America. Schools will put up signs that say, “Just say NO to Pop,” and “Here’s your brain on Soda!” Before your children leave for school you’ll remind them “not to take pop from strangers,” and “don’t take that first drink cause pop is addictive and illegal.”

Sugar addicts will stand furtively on street corners looking to score some soda pop—while children light up on the swings at school, getting high so they can feel better about their failing grades and lack of interest in anything worthwhile.

That’s change we can believe in! 

America will be like a big old Doobie Brothers Concert where the air is thick with second-hand smoke, although it will be legal second-hand smoke—none of that killer cigarette kind. And peace and love will hang over all. Sort of like in the Stepford Wives, except our country is equal opportunity. Everyone gets to smoke the happy joint.

This makes our government’s job so much easier. J

The Secret Lives of Happy People

I read an article recently about a survey taken of Americans to determine their rate of happiness. After the polls were taken and the answers were in, the happiest Americans were old, male, and Republican.

For all of you young, female Democrats, it is a sad day to realize you are not happy—or at least not as happy as Dick Cheney. Although, I can’t say he looks all that happy outwardly, but perhaps he holds it all inside. Some people are like that. They portray the exact opposite of what they truly feel. Take comedians for example. Oftentimes, they are the most unhappy individuals of all, taken to suicidal tendencies and chronic depression. It could be the Democrat in them, but sometimes they’re old and male too. Wouldn’t those happy genes counteract the unhappy political views? I don’t know.

I think we should take the time to analyze this. Scientifically speaking (not biology or chemistry, cause I wasn’t any good at those), but with an open mind. The kind of open mind that’s used when supposedly smart people make up theories on the beginning of time and all. Open your minds really wide and I will fill it up with my theories of true happiness and how to get it.

Back in the “olden” days there was a Great Depression. Not like today. Obama’s great depression is nothing compared with the original. I know this because I have a grandmother.

When you cook one chicken for a family of ten and eat everything but the beak—that’s a depression. When you save potato peels for the next day’s soup—that’s a depression. When there are more hobos riding the rails than men working in the fields—that’s a depression. When you don’t spit out the worm in the apple because it’s free meat—that’s a depression.

Now, let’s take the senior citizen side of things…

If someone lived through the Great Depression or their parents did, they would be changed by the experience. Their outlook on things would be different than you or I, because in comparison everything would look rosy. They would be happier and content with what they have. You don’t wish for a new car or bicycle or computer when you’re old because without a license, balance, or technological savvy, you have no need for those things. Washing dishes by hand, paying for things with cash, discussing the weather and if it may rain or not, eating high-fiber to maintain regularity, are the simple things that now bring contentment.

As for the happiness that comes from being male…

I think that since they are old as well as male, they have been working at a regular job or career for approximately fifty years of their lives. Now they are retired and able to be home much more, spend time with their wives, watch endless sports on television, and become adept at keeping an eye on the neighbor’s lack of lawn care. This carefree existence makes them happy.

Their wives, on the other hand, are accustomed to being alone, taking care of the house, living a quiet life since the children are grown and moved away, and only having to prepare a meal at the end of the day when hubby returns from his job, but…now everything is topsy-turvy. The television is on twenty-four hours a day even when no one is watching it. He wants to graze in the kitchen five minutes after she cleans up. The neighbors call the police and report an old man lurking around their yard, measuring the length of their grass and taking pictures. This is stressful on the female and she is now unhappy.

As for the Republican part…

When you are on the “right” side of issues, you are naturally happier than when you’re on the wrong side and calling names just cause you don’t have a sensible argument.

The survey also said that married people are happier than unmarried, church-goers happier than non-believers, and those that give to charity or church are happier than those that horde it all for themselves. Which, by the way, are also things in a recent survey that Republicans did much more than Democrats.

So there you have it. A few not-so-secret secrets to happiness.

Personally, I’m just going to have to live with two out of three - because as a Republican and church-goer, I don’t go in for none of that sex-change stuff.

Traveling Dreams

Trying to enjoy a vacation this time of year in Minnesota is just plain hard. When it’s not raining, it’s blowing. When it’s not blowing, it’s freezing. Sometimes it’s doing all three at the same time. Once in a while you glimpse the sun and hope returns—for a second.

My husband likes to get a jump on things. Go early - get back sooner. That sort of thing. I’m not sure why, but I follow where he leads. It might be some of that farmer boy blood still runs through his veins and causes him to get up every morning at 5:30 regardless of the need to be anywhere. Spring makes him think of plowing and planting, early to bed, early to rise, and beating the birds out of those worms. That’s why he likes to go on vacation before it’s truly weather compatible. We always get there before the crowds show up. In fact, I’ve seldom seen a crowd anywhere we’ve been.

We left for the Black Hills at ten in the morning the other day. The sky was clear and blue as a Robin’s egg. The weather forecast said mid-sixties for the week, although it was mid-forties when we started out. We rode our motorcycles west. A definite chill was in the air, but we were prepared. We’d dressed warmly with coats, overpants, gloves, etc.

The wind whipped dark clouds across the face of the sun until they eventually blanketed the sky, handing low and heavy with dread. I thought bright, happy thoughts for about forty miles—until my brain froze, my fingers had a severe case of frost-bite and were unable to bend, and snot froze on the end of my nose. I signaled my husband to pull over.

We had brunch at McDonalds while we thawed out long enough to survive the return trip home. It was a short vacation, but very stimulating. Maybe next time we’ll make it to Mankato. 

I hear the weather isn't so bad farther south. If we could just get over the state line.

Happy Mother's Day

If you can't tell, this is a picture of my mom & I. Yes--matching dresses were chic and cool in 1968. And no--it wasn't just the sun in our eyes, we always looked this happy when we wore them. J 

Mother’s Day is May 10^th, and so I am dedicating this installment to mothers everywhere. Hope you all have a wonderful day and feel the love of your children as they endeavor to display it in works of art, hugs & kisses, flowers, or breakfast in bed. If they don’t do any of those things then you probably didn’t raise them right and there’s nothing you can do at this late date. Sorry. L

Hallmark advertises a special line of cards that play a few bars of a song or that you can record on. The idea that musical or recordable cards are superior to cards with printed sentiments is expressed in the price. Yes, they are more expensive. Therefore they must be better. Which only goes to prove that writers are underpaid.

An elderly man in Germany received just such a card, placed it on his windowsill, and promptly forgot about it. During the next few days he kept hearing this annoying little serenade over and over again, at irregular intervals and at all hours, until he thought he would go crazy. He fussed and fumed about the apartment, muttering death threats against his neighbors for playing the tune relentlessly and finally decided they were doing it on purpose just to make him angry. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he called the police.

The officers came into his apartment and waited to hear the music the man said would certainly play at any moment. The breeze blew in the open window and the card fluttered in the wind. The tune played just as the man predicted. The officers solved the case and the bluster fizzled out of the old man in an instant. He was relieved to know his neighbors were not trying to drive him insane. But I’m pretty sure he took that card and burned it, recorded music and all, in spite of the exorbitant prize paid to send it to him.

So if you were contemplating a recordable card over a lovely, homemade, construction paper, cutout card, you might go with your creative side. Your mother will appreciate the time spent on her behalf and she won’t want to ring your neck for giving her something just as annoying as that battery-operated machine gun you owned as a child.